


Contamination Isn't As Bad As It Sounds

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cecil being a great caring boyfriend, M/M, Ugh, and Carlos being cute, i wrote cute things, marriage fic, really fucking cute like, theyre both cute okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 04:30:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil and Carlos finally tie the not, in the appropriate Night Vale fashion. However, Carlos always imagined his wedding day to be a bit different, and definitely involving less blood shed.</p>
<p>Cecil picks up on this, and decides to give Carlos the wedding he imagined, to the best of his ability.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contamination Isn't As Bad As It Sounds

**Author's Note:**

> Been working on this for awhile and oh gosh, it's too cute. I've fallen so hard for these dorks, and they deserve to be happy. 
> 
> Ahh, Night Vale. Anyway, enjoy!

Even before Carlos had officially popped the question to Cecil, right under the lights above the Arby's in in an ostensibly symbolic but nevertheless sentimental gesture, he'd realized that Night Vale _probably_ would have some interesting engagement and marital customs that he would have to bear through. If only for Cecil's sake. 

He'd paled when Cecil had off-handedly mentioned public, ritualized consummation but Cecil quickly added that that requirement was stricken from the process back in 1976 due to collective town embarrassment. There were just some things better kept in the bedroom, Cecil explains away. Carlos can't imagine that coital privacy was entirely respective by either the City Council or the Sheriffs Secret Police, but he nevertheless was relieved to hear that he wouldn't have to be intimate with Cecil in front of people like Old Woman Josie, his contemporaries, Steve Carlsberg, and God knows who else. 

Still, Carlos couldn't help but speculate on what exactly the rituals would entail. He had thought that there would probably be blood involved, and he turned out to be right. He and Cecil had been summoned to a tiny copse in Mission Grove Park through a series of cryptic--and slightly singed--letters issued to them by their toaster. Their first order of business had been to cut runes in each other's forearms to let out the blood and well. _Consume_ it. Which had been weird. But not nearly as weird as what had followed afterwards. 

Carlos had had to wrangle a squirmy, uncharacteristically _massive_ truffle over onto the circle carved into the ground and sprinkled with a fine powder that smelled vaguely of Sweet Tarts as Cecil cut an "X" into its spongy flesh. They then had to feed each other the now desiccated slices, and the parallels there would have amused him if he hadn't been trying to ignore the fact that mushrooms should never taste this metallic and sanguine _ever_. 

In the end, the rituals had gone off without a hitch, or at least he assumed so since Cecil seemed happy after they were over. Very happy. They'd gone back to their shared apartment for a ritual that Carlos was a little more-- _comfortable_ with. 

Carlos had been laying in Cecil's arm, head nestled up against his collar with the steady press of the other man's breath pulsing against his cheek, when the thought struck him the first time. 

Now, Carlos wasn't much of a traditionalist. If he were, he would never have agreed to work in Night Vale. He had never really thought of what his wedding would be like, aside from the fact that it would probably happen, someday. But now that it had happened, now that it was over and he and Cecil were recognized as husbands at least within Night Vale, he couldn't help but think about how he kind of wished things had been different.

His mother had gotten re-married when he was six, and although Carlos didn't remember every last detail of the ceremony and reception there were a couple of things that stood out in his head. He remembered the ring his stepfather had bought her, he remembered his mother's ruffled dress and beaded bolero jacket, he remembered the vaulted Catholic church with the big stained glass windows casting myriad colored lights over the floors. He remembered the priest, his dark skin set against  both the white vestments and the strands of silver still clinging to his skull. He remembered that his suit was too big and a musty powdered blue. He remembered a humble white cake that tasted delicious. He definitely didn't remember any blood, or pain, or sacrificial fungi. 

Carlos didn't consider himself particularly religious anymore, and he'd stopped caring almost entirely about the customs and rituals of his family's faith once he'd started focusing more on science, and definitely once he'd come to Night Vale and found angels dressed in hand-knit sweaters and standing in aisles at the Ralph's debating which type of soft cheeses to purchase. 

But he couldn't stop thinking about a ceremony that was more in line with what he'd come to expect exterior to Night Vale. He didn't mind the strangeness, the curiosity imbued in the bones of the town and its strange, violent customs as long as it was for Cecil's sake, or for the sake of survival. A scientist is always flexible, and ready to adapt. 

Yet while he already knew somewhere deep inside that he probably would never be leaving the town, he was still unwilling to leave everything that he'd known in the world outside Night Vale. 

\--------

It's fairly late when he gets home. He doesn't know what Cecil will be up to, or if he will even be around. Cecil's sleeping habits tend to be erratic, and range from lengthy to nonexistent. He expects enter and find either a Cecil exhausted from work, a Cecil already sleeping in bed, or no Cecil at all. 

Instead, he finds a Cecil standing in the living room, framed by a tiny white arch and a handful of elongated, lit candles. It takes Carlos a moment, and a few deep breaths full of lavender and apricot, to fully comprehend what he's seeing. Then it hits him, and he feels a rush of both affection and confusion surge through him. 

"How did you--?" He averts his eye from the display to look at his husband. Cecil rubs the back of his neck and looks off to the side of Carlos. It's brief, but the eye tattoo in the middle of his forehead blinks. Carlos mouths a quiet _oh_. Cecil wrings his hands. 

"I'm so sorry, Carlos, before I was so caught up in what it would be like to have _my_ perfect wedding, I was just _so_ happy, you see, and I just wanted everything to be perfect that I didn't even think about what you might want and how you might have wanted things to be different, and I acted _so_ selfishly!"

"Cecil, no it's not your fault, I--" he stammers, "I didn't even think anything about it until after the ceremony was over, and it's really not a big deal…No, I mean it is a big deal, this is a big deal but you…didn't have to…" He ends lamely, matching Cecil's awkward stance until he just leans forward and puts his arms around Cecil's waist, head resting lightly against his shoulder.

"Thank you."

Cecil hugs him back, most of the nervous tension running out of him like water. 

"I tried, you know it's rather hard to get any information on marriage customs outside of Night Vale, the Wikipedia page on Catholic traditions but most of the text was replaced with the full text of _Ulysses_ in its original Lojban, and the images were all pictures of flying doves with red Xs over them, but I asked Intern Stephen and, well, there was a pile of black bean pods left in his chair when I went to check on him again. But he had scratched a couple of lines out in the surface of the desk so I just had to go from there, I'm sorry if it isn't like you wanted--" 

"Cecil," Carlos stops him, first with his hands and then with his mouth. 

Cecil's face looks caught between enamored and aghast, grasping Carlos by the shoulders and lightly pushing at them. 

"Carlos! We're not supposed to kiss _yet_ ," and oh God, they've kissed so much and done so much more already that that comment is just so ridiculous, so ridiculously Cecil. Cecil, who'd read his mind and cobbled together a tiny ceremony in their living room just to make him happy. As if he could be happier. Carlos moves in to kiss him again, but Cecil rears back, fixing him with a disapproving look. 

"Not yet precious Carlos, not yet," He frowns at Carlos chuckle, "It's tradition to kiss after--err, vows, yes?

Carlos cocks his head. 

"Bloodless vows?"

Cecil nods.

"Bloodless vows."

They move to stand under the makeshift arch together, Carlos in his singed red flannel and jeans and Cecil in his copper blouse and snakeskin pants. Carlos takes the moment to examine the flowers Cecil had used to adorn the wooden structure, touching the base of a bright red and blue flower with speckled leaves. 

The stem curls around his finger and the petals close around the tip. Carlos can feel a gentle sucking sensation on his nail. 

"Don't worry, they don't bite. And their stamens are only mildly toxic." Carlos pulls his finger away quickly. On his opposite side, Cecil gently loops his arm around Carlos' elbow. A tentacle steals into his hand, pulsing warm with affection. Carlos blushes at the touch and turns to face the front, jittery despite the fact that him and Cecil are already husbands. 

"Apologies for the delay, pastor," Cecil speaks to someone, and Carlos nearly jumps, because he had not noticed any other people or entities in the room at all until this point. He isn't sure if it was because he had been so stunned and enamored with Cecil, or if the grey-skinned humanoid dressed in red and white vestments hadn't manifested until that very moment. 

Cecil has gotten a priest, a _priest,_ which is definitely the most shocking thing of all. 

At least, Carlos is pretty sure it's a priest. Pretty sure it is also human, or had been human at some point. Its skin is fairly ashy, and its eyes are rheumy and lack pupils, and there's a distinct smell of earth and wine and something else that reminds him of hospitals. The priest is also missing all but one yellow tooth, which makes him a bit hard to understand as he slogs through the passages in the tan book he's got splayed open in his hand. 

Of course, there's a high chance that the priest isn't Catholic, or had never been a priest in the first place. Or is being inhabited by the spirit of a priest or, _something_ ; for once the specifics and the details of how exactly Cecil had gotten a man wearing vestments to recite marriage rites weren't relevant. 

Most of what the priest says goes over his head, anyway. He's too busy looking at Cecil, studying every last swell and give of his face, every last piece of hair both in place and out, every last thing that is his and his now. And he has felt that sense of possession before, but only now does it feel tangible, and binding, and real; like Carlos can reach out and break it off and hold it warm in his palms, like he is holding both of Cecil's hands. 

"The couple," the priest drones, "has decided to recite their own vows." At that, Carlos snaps back into reality and feels a jolt of cool air go down his back. _What_?

Cecil looks at him sheepishly, his blush deepening into a deep plum. 

"You don't have to say anything, it's okay. I just--" Cecil clears his throat, struggles to swallow, "I want to--I feel like I have to say something."

Cecil's words were lovely, absolutely lovely and honey but Carlos can only listen to them through a dull haze of panic and his mind numbly tries to put together something, _anything_ that he could say to Cecil. 

"--and I promise that, with all of my heart, with _every_ one of my hearts, I promise, sweet Carlos, that I will never not love you, not even when the inevitable heat death of reality tries to tear the very constitution of our bodies apart," Cecil finishes, his face flushed both from the exertion of his vows and the perpetual blush that colors his cheeks whenever Carlos is in the vicinity, and usually also when he is not. And then Cecil looks at him, exhilarated yet not expectant. 

"It--it's all right Carlos, I know you're not--don't worry," Cecil starts, but Carlos shakes his head. 

"No, let me." 

Carlos isn't very good at improvising, isn't really good with words at all. But if there is ever a time to just fake it, it's now. He takes a deep breath. 

"Uhm. Cecil." He starts, already feeling the heat rising in his cheeks at the clumsiness of his words. Cecil's eloquence always makes him feel--not inadequate, but humbled. 

"Cecil, I. When I first--when I first met you I was. Uhm. Well I was kind of creeped out," Carlos could have kicked himself, but he kept going, "I mean, not like that but. Well. I just, no one had ever said anything like that to me before. I never…never thought anyone could ever feel that way about me."

Cecil looked more hurt by that then the creepy comment. He opens his mouth to retort, to refute the fact and reiterate that Carlos was beautiful and perfect and caring and _how_ could anyone not see that, but Carlos continues. 

"But. After awhile, I realized that…that you made everything make sense, somehow, even when it doesn't. You were the only thing that I could really cling on to, for sanity, for…anything. And you made me realize that they're…they're are some things that don't need figuring out, don't need analyzing, and sometimes things just _are_ , just exist and that's okay. That's okay, because you exist, and because you are."

Carlos wants to wipe away the sweat beading at his brow, but his hands are locked with Cecil's and even the nerves aren't enough for him to want to end that. He settles for biting his lip and awkwardly trying to meet Cecil's eyes. 

 "You make me understand everything and nothing at all Cecil. I wouldn't be the same if I had never met you, and I. I love you. Really. I love you so, so much."  

It feels lame and mealy in his mouth and doesn't even begin to describe the feelings he holds for Cecil, but the other man just beams, beams in a way that was _somehow_ happier than Carlos had ever seen him. And that was coming from a man who was dazzled by the way Carlos tied his shoes in the morning. 

And as Cecil beams at him, as his tattoos vibrats and roils together like a stormy sea of ink, as he stands in his ridiculous outfit in front of a homemade arch wreathed with deadly flowers, in front of a zombified priest whose jaw was starting to tilt to the side, Carlos realizes something. 

When he had thought of the wedding that he had wanted, he had thought of something stiff and ceremonial that was nevertheless familiar to him. A relic of the past that he needed to hold on to in order to prove that he was still grounded, that there was still a part of him that was _Carlos_ , untouched by Night Vale. But now--now, as one of the flowers besides him trills and begins to consume its hapless neighbor, he realizes that none of those rituals can compare to the familiarity that runs through the blood or ichor in Cecil's veins and warms under his lips; a warmth that strokes the grooves in his lips and makes them tingle. A warmth that he can taste mere moments later when they jump the gun on the priest and lock mouths and hands and everything together. 

Cecil doesn't have a ring, and that's fine, that's more than fine, but when he laces his hands with Carlos one of the curling tendrils on the tattoos wrapped luxuriant around his forearms splits from the main body and travels down over the column of his wrist and over his hand. It wraps itself around his ring finger and pulses bright gold and rose just below the knuckle, indelibly marked and impossible to lose. And that is fine, so much more than fine that they fall into another kiss, this time in tune with the priest's lugubrious declaration **.**

The moment after the priest has shut the book there is a sound like a live wire against concrete and one of Old Woman Josie's angels appears in a dull flash behind him. The priest makes no move to escape as it places one hand on his shoulder and disappears with them with a hollow echo that's reminiscent of Gregorian chants. 

Carlos has no time to think about where the priest had gone off to because Cecil is on him, smooshing their bodies together in a wonderfully warm hug. 

"Oh _Carlos_ , I'm so happy, so so happy, are you happy as well?" 

He pulls back a bit, questioning. Carlos grins, and rubs his finger over Cecil's knuckles. 

"Of course."

It wasn't like the half-remembered details of his mother's marriage, nor anything he would've expected, but what of it? He is in Night Vale. In Night Vale and married. _Married_ to a wonderful man who he loved. The man who he once again presses up against, lips leaning up against lips as their bodies grew closer and closer until Carlos can feel the jump of Cecil's heart between the mere layers of clothes and fat and bone between them. When they finally part, Carlos' shirt is untucked from his pants, and Cecil's hair is looking more and more like he'd stuck an unfortunate appendage in an electrical socket. 

"So," Carlos grins, cheeky, "What are we doing for the honeymoon?"


End file.
